Things I never told my partner
by Tez
Summary: Mac takes a reassignment to the DSD to work with an old friend. Good idea? Probably not. HarmAngst, HM
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own JAG. But if you're thinking about selling, I could offer you a pretty fair price…

A/N: This occurs directly before 'Goodbyes' and after 'Second Sight'. Harm doesn't change his designator. 'Yeah, Baby' didn't happen, as much as I love the H/M scene at the end. I started writing this story smack dab in the middle (What can I say? I like the mushy stuff, not the intro and the exposition and all that actual important stuff), so the beginning is painfully contrived. Hang in there, though: the H/M comes through strong and clear eventually. 

            As I post this the story is over sixty pages long, and I'm making it up as I go, so for all of you who wanted me to write something longer than five pages, here it is. I am putting it up in installments, though, because I'm not sure the 500-word poster in me can handle putting that much up at once. 

            This story achieves one of my ultimate goals: the angst of a character death with none of that messy actual death stuff to get in the way. Comments, constructive criticism and suggestions for plot points and mental institutions that are currently taking patients and have ethernet access are more than welcome. Don't bother pointing out that Andie is one huge plot contrivance rolled up into an original character; that's how I wrote her and that's how I like her. :-) Enjoy!

Judge Advocate General Headquarters

Mac

            I sink into my chair, certain that my life can't get any worse. It's been almost three weeks since my Admiral's Mast, and I can't handle the environment in this office anymore. The admiral spends his time giving me busy work and shaking his head at me, and Harm and I have barely talked. The rest of the office is steering clear of me, not that I blame them, and I'm seriously considering putting in for a transfer. I don't like the idea of running away from my problems yet again, but I'm not getting anything useful done here anymore. 

            The phone ringing is a welcome distraction from my thoughts. "Mackenzie."

            "Hello, Sarah. It's Andrea Monroe."

            "Andie! How have you been? We haven't talked since..."

            "Since right after you transferred to the JAG corps. How's that going?"

            I glance out my window into the bullpen. "Don't ask. I hope you're calling for help on a mission, hopefully one that will get me out of here for a few weeks."

            She laughs. "I have to hand it to you, Sarah, your sense of timing is impeccable."

            "Isn't that why they call me Cleo?"

            "I guess it is. Can you be ready for a pre-briefing by tomorrow evening?"

            "Langley?"

            "Not that much has changed."

            "You promised me a trip to the Caribbean after last time."

            "We can make a stop after the mission. You, me, and a beach full of hot college boys on spring break."

            "Works for me. Anyone else coming back from the old days?"

            Andie sighs. "Nah. I could only justify bringing in one senior op."

            "And you thought of me first?"

            "Of course." She sounds mildly offended. "You're my favorite."

            Boy, it's nice to be somebody's favorite right now. "I'll be there. Would you mind clearing it with my CO?"

            "Trouble in paradise?"

            "I screwed up." I sigh. "Look, I know it's my responsibility..."

            "I'll do you one better and clear it with the SecNav. Your CO won't be able to question it. The orders will be there within the hour. It'll come down as a sealed order for reassignment to the DSD; I'll get you reassigned back to Falls Church when we're done." She hesitates for a moment. "I know I don't know what's wrong over there, Cleo, but just remember, it may be screwed up-"

            "But if you can do it, you can undo it too. I know, Meph. I just want out of here for a little while."

            "I can handle that. 

            "I forgot how much I liked you."

            She laughs. "Hang in there another two days and we can have some real fun, just like old times."

            We hang up, and I think about what I've just done. I've had offers from I-Force to return on missions since I transferred out after Bosnia three years ago, but until now Andie has never been the one to ask me. She and I spent a whole year together, as part of a joint services team in Bosnia, and back then we were as tight as two friends can get. Andie was an unholy terror if someone was stupid enough to cross her – that was how she ended up being coined as Mephistopheles, if I remember correctly – and she was fiercely dedicated to the job, but she was also dedicated to our team. 

            I've really missed her unfailing support over the last few weeks, but I know better than to try and contact her myself. She's impossible to reach most of the time. During my trial I seriously considered having Webb look for her, but then I would have had to explain to Webb what was going on, and I wasn't sure I could handle it if Andie stopped trusting me like everyone else did. 

            This mission is a godsend, though. I can get out of here for a little while and catch up with Andie at the same time. I may keep my mouth shut about the last few weeks; it'll be nice to be around someone who doesn't know what a screw-up I've been. 

----------------------------------------------

Judge Advocate General Headquarters

Harm

            I can hear the shouting before I reach the admiral's office. When I get to Tiner's desk, Mac is already standing there listening to the muffled exclamations coming from behind his door.

            "Any idea what we did this time?" I joke, but she's tight-lipped and nervous. Maybe we did do something wrong.

            "I was kidding," I tell her, and she gives me an apologetic look.

            "Sorry, Harm. I'm just not looking forward to this."

            "So you know what we did?"

            She sighs despondently and I have to resist the urge to hug her. She looks so sad. "You didn't do anything. It's me."

            Tiner's intercom buzzes, and the admiral demands to have us sent in. I gesture for Mac to precede me, holding the door for her and shutting it behind us as we stand at attention in front of Chegwidden's desk.

            "Lieutenant Commander Rabb and Major Mackenzie reporting as ordered, sir."

            He gets out of his chair and stalks toward us. Mac's face is paling quickly, and I'm suddenly afraid this has something to do with that mess three weeks ago or her Article 32. He stops in front of Mac, and it seems like my fears are about to be realized.

            "Major, did you request a transfer out of my command?"

            I turn to blink at her, not caring that I'm no longer at attention. She did what?

            "No, sir."

            He extends a sheaf of papers to her. "Then explain this, if you would be so kind."

            She takes the papers, scanning the one on top. "It's a reassignment to the DSD, sir."

            "How astute, Major. I'm interested in how exactly this came to pass. Did you request this transfer?"

            "No, sir."

            "But you knew about it."

            "Yes, sir."

            I suck in a sharp breath, betrayed. How could she know about something like that and not tell me? I'm supposed to be her partner. She's supposed to be my best friend. 

            The admiral leans back against his desk, folding his arms across his chest. "Why?"

            She keeps her eyes firmly on the papers in her hand. "They need me over there, sir."

            His voice softens for a moment. "And we need you here, Mac."

            She finally looks up, meeting his gaze. "I'm sorry, sir."

            He sighs. "So be it," he says, looking over at me. "Commander, this is going to affect you the most, since the two of you work together so often. Have the major show you the cases she's been working on, and make sure you've got a grip on them before she leaves. Dismissed."

-----------------------------------------------------

Interdepartmental Task Force Headquarters

Andie

            I'm standing at what passes for attention in my department, doing my best to look as though I'm not the least bit interested in how my superiors react to the op plan they're currently reviewing. Actually, I think I might scream from the tension. If they don't approve the plan I've got thirty-two hours to come up with a completely different one, and there are only so many ways to move twelve valuable hostages and three deactivated nuclear warheads out of an enemy encampment without getting caught.

            Command looks up, raising an eyebrow at me. "I thought Mackenzie was a JAG lawyer now," she says, tone as cool and even as ever. 

            "She is," I reply, unconsciously emulating her calm speech. "I requested her temporarily and she agreed. The orders went through this morning."

            "Eager, are we?" That's Control, always questioning the motives of operatives who start to get ahead of themselves. 

            "No, sir," I say, wishing they'd just approve or disapprove and be done with it. "Just ready to do my job." 

            He leans back in his chair but doesn't say anything further. It's Command who finally nods at me, gesturing toward the door. "Then go do it, Andrea."

----------------------------------------------

Judge Advocate General Headquarters

Harm

            We make it three steps out of the admiral's office before I grab her arm, nearly blind with anger. 

            "What the hell was that, Mac?" I demand, furious. "You're transferring to the DSD? Since when?"

            She sighs, rubbing her forehead as though she's trying to stave off a headache. "Since yesterday," she replies. "Look, Harm, can we do this later? I need to get my cases together."

            "No, we can do this now," I snap, aware on some level that I'm being unreasonable about this, but I'm too upset to care. "You didn't think this might be something I might like to know about before the admiral called us in over it? Damn it, Mac, I don't know what's been going on with you lately –"

            "Stop." She takes a step backwards, away from me. "Stop it, Harm. You know full well what's been going on, this whole damn office knows, and I am so sick of it."

            "What, so you're going to run away?" I taunt, ignoring the little voice in my head telling me that taking this tack with her isn't a good idea. "That's your MO, right? Don't bother sticking around to try and fix your mistakes, just walk away and pretend they never happened. That's how you ended up with an Article 32 in the first place!"

            We both freeze when those words come out of my mouth. I'd do anything to take them back, but they're already out there, hanging in the air between us. 

            "Mac, I'm sorry," I begin, knowing any apology I can produce isn't going to make this right but needing to try. She cuts me off.

            "No, you're not." She shakes her head. "You meant every word."

            "I didn't –"

            "Then you should have." Her voice is quiet and full of self-recrimination. "It was all true."

            "Mac, no, I didn't mean –"

            "I'll leave those cases with Harriet," she says, her outward demeanor returning to normal. Only someone who knows her as well as I do could tell that she's still upset. "I need to go. Excuse me."

            I bite back another apology, knowing it won't do any good now. I'll have to call her in a few days, once she's cooled down. Heaving a gusty sigh, I head for my office feeling like the world's biggest jerk. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The more I read over this story, the more I realize that no one who isn't me is going to be able to follow the temporal jumps without a little help. This mini-chapter is the day before the mission; the next one will pick up the day of. The story will pick up around chapter 4. This way, I don't have to write any of the boring parts of the story, just the action, adventure, and H/M schmoopyness. 

----------------------------------------------------

Interdepartmental Task Force Headquarters

Andie

            I'm digging through a filing cabinet in Records, looking for the specs on the I-Force 'railway' that our people set up for quick access to several of the top secret encampments in the Middle East, both ours and those belonging to groups that are sometimes enemies and sometimes friends. I know there's a railway coming out of the camp we're going to be hitting in three days. However, 'knowing about' and 'being able to find the paperwork on' are always two very different things at I-Force HQ. 

            "Lose something, Monroe?"

            My initial reaction is to jump in surprise, but I hold it back because I know that's what he wants, and also because I know the drawer over my head is open and I don't really want to start this mission off with a concussion. Instead, I carefully extract my upper body from its precarious position and turn to face him. 

            "Nothing a six-month search down here in Records hell won't turn up, Dorian," I reply, taking the opportunity to look him over discreetly. Gabriel Dorian, like Sarah and me, was a member of Team 7 back when we were still called the I-Capades; a mocking insult we took on as our team name and never relinquished after Control tagged us with it during the first month of our assignment in Bosnia. "I'm running an op out in the Big Sandbox, but I can't find the railway specs for our target."

            I'm not particularly surprised when he hands me the sheaf of papers he's holding. A glance at the first page tells me it's the specs I've been in search of for the last hour. Sometimes I think he exists just to make my life harder.

            "Thanks, Frost," I tell him. His eyebrow raises incrementally at the nickname. 

            "I haven't been Frost in a long time, Andrea," he says. I smirk. 

            "Yeah, you have," I tell him, slamming the drawer in front of me shut and heading past him toward the door. "Just not to your face."

            The door closes on his chagrinned expression, and I allow myself a grin as I head for debriefing, where Sarah and the rest of the current Team 7 should be waiting for me. 

-----------------------------------

Interdepartmental Task Force Headquarters

Mac

            "So, to sum up: estimated time of mission fifteen minutes, Mackenzie and Calhoun stand guard here, Klein and Dunhardt enter from the rear over here, Allerby and myself in through the side here, and Donovan and Gilcrest ready to pull out with the SOVs from out here. Allerby and I will get the hostages. Klein, Dunhardt, I want those nukes, hell or high water. They should already be loaded onto the truck. All you have to do is drive that truck onto the SOV without getting caught. If they aren't loaded, then you're going to have to make it happen. You'll have fifteen minutes. Everyone clear?"

            "Crystal, ma'am," seven voices echo, and Andie nods. 

            "Review the specs until you know them like the back of your hand. Lights out at 2200; I don't want anyone falling asleep on me tomorrow. Dismissed."

            The team files out of the room, and I can see the line of demarcation between the Army and Navy personnel. Rolling my eyes at their blatancy, I wait until the group is gone and then turn to Andie. 

            "They're not real good at pretending they like each other, are they?"

            "I don't care who they like, who they hate, or who won that damn football game this year," she replies, the smile on her face taking the sting out of her words. "They're gonna play nice or I'm gonna eat them for breakfast."

            "My money's on you," I tell her honestly, and she laughs. 

            "I've got a last-minute review with C and C," she says, gesturing for me to precede her out of the briefing room. "You should go find Dunhardt and Allerby."

            "Why?" I ask, pausing at the junction that leads back to temporary quarters. 

            Andie grins. "Apparently Marines count as Navy here. With you, they've got equal numbers to the Army contingent."

            I roll my eyes, heading down the corridor, but Andie gets in a parting shot.

            "Hey, if you guys decide to have a rumble, let me know. I loved West Side Story. Saw it twice off Broadway."

            I continue on my way, muttering dire imprecations against I-Force operatives with twisted senses of humor and too much time on their hands. 

            "I heard that!"

            I add a curse on their batlike auditory abilities, and as I turn the corner I can hear Andie laugh. 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: The DSD, to the best of my memory, is the Defense Security Division; Palmer worked for them on the show. That may or may not be important later on. SOV is a special operations vehicle; these ones are huge, hence the reference to the 'railway'. Next chapter, we'll finally get some Angsty!Harm. 

-----------------------------

Desert, Middle East (Coordinates Classified)

Mac

            "There's a reason the two of us are the ones on roof patrol," Andie says, still scanning the terrain with her binoculars.

            "Because we don't scare easy?" I ask impudently, and she shakes her head. 

            "Because you and I were members of a named team, so we have clearance to know things the rest of the team doesn't."

            "Like what?"

            She's quiet for a minute. "Our orders are Priority One Retrieval of the hostages and those missiles. All other objectives are secondary."

            Now I know where she's going with this. "Like bringing everyone back alive?"

            "Or at all." She glances over at me. "I know that rubs your Marine Corps sensibilities the wrong way, but as the roof patrol we're the easiest targets, and if something happens to one of us the rest need to leave them behind and keep going."

            "Are you expecting something to happen?"

            She hesitates, then shakes her head. "No more than usual. But that's why the two of us are up here. If one of us gets taken down, we've got to play dead. If the others think we're alive and come back for us, we could jeopardize the whole thing."

            "Play dead," I agree. "We did the same thing in Bosnia, you know."

            "That was different," she says. I look over at her, but her expression is inscrutable.

            "You can trust this group to follow orders," I say finally, but I have the niggling feeling that that isn't what she means. 

            "Their orders are to leave black arrows behind," she replies carefully. "So they need to believe we're dead or they might come back for us."

            "Worst comes to worst, Meph, we can make them believe it."

            We fall silent again, but the silence is uncomfortable, and I find myself wishing Donovan would drive a little faster so we could get this over with. 

----------------------------------------------

Judge Advocate General Headquarters

Harm

            "Harris court-martial. Insley court-martial. Keller Article 32." I sigh as I throw the files onto my desk. "No wonder you took off, Mac," I mutter, gazing with distaste at the files. "These cases suck."

            "Sir?" a tentative voice calls from the door, and I turn to see Lieutenant Roberts standing just inside my office. 

            "Yeah, Bud?" I ask wearily. "Does the admiral have another truly godawful case he'd like to hand off to me? Another crossdresser that was caught parading around enlisted berthing in his CO's undergarments? Maybe another ensign who was written up for stealing thirty boxes of ballpoint pens out of General Stores?"

            "Uh, no sir. That is, I don't think so, sir."

            I gesture for him to come in. "Have a seat. Sorry I snapped at you; it's been a long day."

            "No problem, sir." He looks down for a moment, then back up at me. "We were – I mean, I was just wondering if you'd heard from Major Mackenzie since she left."

            I try to give him a reassuring smile, but it won't come. "Not a word, but you know how the DSD can be. I'm sure whatever she's doing is ultra top secret." A thought strikes me. "I bet even Webb doesn't know."

            Bud perks up at this. "Have you asked him?" I give him a look and he sinks down into the chair again. "Right. Sorry, sir. We're just worried about the major."

            I turn my chair around to gaze out the window, trying to resist the urge to look around the lot for the little red Corvette I know isn't parked there. 

            "So am I, Bud. So am I."

-----------------------------       

Later that day…

Desert, Middle East (Coordinates Classified)

Mac

            I can't believe the mission is already complete. It's one thing to hear Andie say our mission time will be fifteen minutes, and another thing entirely to look around fifteen minutes later and know we've accomplished our objective. Both the missiles and the hostages were right where they were supposed to be, and we were in and out in the prescribed time with no casualties. We're back on roof patrol again, but we haven't seen any sign of trouble and we can't be more than two hours from the pickup point. 

            A gesture from Andie brings me out of my musings, and I curse myself for even thinking that the danger was over. She signs quickly to me, and I follow her meaning with the ease born of long association. There are snipers – probably enough to endanger the mission – and something needs to draw their fire to center everyone else on their positions. I can see one of them, 60 degrees to starboard, but the others are hidden by the rocky outcroppings. I know full well what the only thing that has a shot at drawing their fire is, but I wish we didn't have to do it. I'm going to have bruises six ways from Sunday. 

            I have time to hope the rest of the team is up to the challenge of getting the cargo home, and then Andie gestures again and I sight on the sniper I can see, preparing to get shot as I pull the trigger. She's hit before I am, and I grab for her hand as she plays dead, knowing we're going to have to fall off the SOV but wanting to go down at the same time she does. I get my wish when I feel the impact of at least two bullets against my kevlar vest, and as I hear the rest of the team open fire on the shooters I slide backwards in a controlled fall, feeling Andie do the same and trying to ignore the burning ache in my chest. 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Finally, some angst! Please forgive my blatant disregard for real-world geography. I make no promises as to my own ability to tell how many miles from any one point any particular thing is located on any map, up to and including Mac and Andie. 

------------------------------

Desert, Middle East (Coordinates Unknown)

Mac

            I roll over and groan, wishing fervently that I'd managed to knock myself out when I hit the ground. Meph is lying about fifteen feet away. I crawl over to her, keeping an eye out for any enemy activity. It becomes quickly apparent that there's nothing out here but the two of us and some cacti. 

            "Meph?" I shake her shoulder and she mutters something rude in French. 

            "I think they got all the snipers," she says after a moment, using my outstretched hand to pull herself into a sitting position. 

            "What makes you say that?"

            She gestures around us. "One, it's quiet. Two, no one's shot us yet."

            "Not after we fell off the SOV, anyway."

            She shrugs. "Did you take them all in the jacket?" she asks, studying the enormous amount of blood on her own BDUs. 

            "All three. I can barely feel my ribs."

            "Hey, they're still there, that's what counts." I take a moment to roll my eyes as she rises to her feet. "Ow. I'm getting too old for this. We need to switch the outer layers and find another cover."

            "Russians?" We've used that one before. For some reason, people who don't mind blowing away Americans are reluctant to shoot Russian peacekeepers. Personally, I think it has something to do with communism, although that may be just a red herring.

            "Sounds good," she agrees, unzipping her jacket and turning it inside out. This motion has the unfortunate effect of staining her t-shirt with the fake blood that's all over her jacket, but it reverses to a non-descript brown military-style coat; just what a Russian peacekeeper might be wearing while traveling through the desert. I reverse mine as well, wincing when the blood smears across my shirt. We'll be wearing them zipped shut, of course, so it won't matter. Bulletproof coats don't do you a lot of good if you wear them open. These sides of the jackets also don't have any stunt packs in them, so if we're shot again we won't look like we're hit. It'll be impossible to travel unnoticed with bloody clothes, though, so I don't complain. 

----------------------------------------------

Two Days Later

Judge Advocate General Headquarters

Chegwidden

            "You're sure?" 

            I ask the question out of desperation; I know Webb would never have called this office – called me – to tell me something like this unless there was no chance he could be wrong. 

            "They videotape their missions, AJ," his voice replies over the line, tinny with static and distance. "I just got out of the debriefing with the team. I saw the tape. There were two casualties, and Mac was one of them." A pause. "AJ…I'm sorry."

            "So am I," I tell him, feeling myself start to become numb. This hurts, really hurts, but I have duties to see to before I can let myself feel the pain of losing an officer under my command. I need to inform the rest of the office, and the SecNav…and Rabb. 

            Hanging up with Webb, I press the intercom button on my phone that will connect me with Tiner. 

            "Yes, sir?"

            "Tiner," I say, and if my voice is a little shaky, he doesn't remark on it. He's been well trained. "Get me Rabb."

----------------------------------------------

Judge Advocate General Headquarters

Harm

            The admiral stands stiffly, gazing out the window. I snap to attention in front of his desk, eyes firmly forward, waiting to hear whatever lecture I've earned this time. 

            "At ease," he says, still facing the window, and a chill runs down my spine. There's something about his voice, his stance, that screams at me to back away. Something is wrong. Something is desperately wrong.

            He turns toward me, and I nearly lose my footing when his eyes meet mine. They are twin pools of sorrow and loss, and I know what's happened before he says a word.

            "Mac?"

            He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm sorry, Harm."

            No. I can't believe it. I won't. "Sir, is there –"

            The look he gives me, one of unadulterated pity, stops me in my verbal tracks. In his eyes, I can see the truth. "She's dead."

            For a moment the visual contact between us is almost palpable, and then he turns away, back to the window. I realize distantly that I'm shaking. It seems unreal. Everything about this is unreal. I actually pinch myself, certain I'll wake up in my messy apartment near Union Station. She can't be gone.

            "Her unit was attacked outside of Kabul. There were two casualties and one injured. The major was among the dead." He clears his throat, continuing with difficulty. "The details have been classified, but the SecNav has informed me that she will be receiving the Distinguished Service Medal for her heroism."

            "Posthumously." I make no move to stop the tears coursing down my face. It might as well be someone else's face. I can't feel it. I can't feel anything. I've never been so numb in my life. Not after losing Diane, not after my ramp strike. Not after finding the truth about my father. Never.

            He finally looks at me again, and I pretend not to notice his offer of a tissue. My partner, my marine, my Sarah is dead. There aren't enough tissues or enough tears in the world to compensate for that.

            "I'm so sorry, son."

            I shake my head, knowing on some level that he's trying to help, but I can't accept his help. If I do, she's really gone. She can't be really gone. Someone's wrong, something's been misconstrued. It's a misunderstanding. It can't be her. It can't be her.

            The admiral clears his throat, and I realize I said that bit last out loud. 

            "I have something for you." He hands me an envelope, the big interoffice ones we use to send packets of information around to the other JAG offices. Instead of a listing of twenty or thirty officers it's been sent to, the front of this envelope only has one name on it. Mine. I know the handwriting as well as I know my own.

            "She left it for you in case she didn't come back." I stare at the bland yellow envelope, an object I've taken for granted for years. A way to ferry information back and forth. This particular ferry is one way. I'm the last stop.

            He reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder and I pull back. I can't accept sympathy from him. I can't accept it from anyone. Sympathy will make this real.

            "Mac left me in charge of her affairs," he tells me. I'm not surprised. I know Mac sees the admiral as the father she never had. Saw him as the father she never had. Please, no, she can't be gone. "I'll be organizing the service in Arlington. I need to go and inform the rest of the staff. Feel free to stay in here as long as you like. Gather your thoughts." This time I let him rest his hand on my shoulder for a moment. What does it matter? Maybe it'll make him feel better. Nothing's going to make me feel better. With a last nod to me, he steps out the door, leaving me with my regrets, my sorrow, and my envelope.

----------------------------------------------

Judge Advocate General Headquarters

Chegwidden

            I step into the main part of the office, my heart heavy with sorrow. This is the worst part of my job. Mac was such a bright young woman, so full of promise. There truly is no fairness in the world. If there were, she would still be alive and Rabb would have told her he loved her long before this, before it was too late. We all knew how he felt; everyone except her. Now she never will.

            Shaking my head at the cruel impartiality of the universe and the armed forces, I ask Tiner to gather the staff as quickly as possible, and then walk over to stand in front of the door to Mac's office to wait for them to assemble. The lights are off, and I know if I tried the door it would be locked. Inside, her desk is covered with case files and depositions, briefs and affidavits. I never understood how such a squared-away marine could have such a messy workspace. Another pang strikes me when I realize someone's going to have to clean out that office, go through her things and remove any trace of Sarah Mackenzie from JAG Ops. Someone else will take her place. The thought tears at me.

            My people are all gathered, with the exception of Rabb and the woman they're gathered to hear about, and they're unnaturally quiet. They know something's wrong. I look out over their faces, worry and concern on each and every one, and wish with all I have that I didn't have to break this news to them. I do, though. I'm the admiral. It's my duty.

            "Attention on deck!" I snap, and they all respond immediately. Good officers, all of them. Well trained. My people. Minus one sassy marine. God, I'm going to miss her.

            "As some of you may know, Major Sarah Mackenzie was assigned on temporary duty as a legal advisor to a combat unit in the middle east." This part never gets any easier. "I was informed at 0900 today that her unit was involved in a combat situation. I am very sorry to tell you that the major was killed in the line of duty." Their faces reflect shock, anger, sorrow. Ensign Sims is crying quietly, as is my yeoman. They all loved her. 

            "In recognition of her exemplary heroism and courage under fire, Major Mackenzie will be awarded the Distinguished Service Medal posthumously. The service will be held in conjunction with the funeral, at Arlington National Cemetery on Friday at 1500 hours. This office will close at 1300, to afford all of you the opportunity to attend." I have to clear my throat to speak around the lump that's formed there. "Sarah Mackenzie was a damn fine officer, an excellent lawyer, and a good friend to all of us. I know I speak for everyone present when I say she will be missed dearly." I give them all a last once-over, noting that there isn't a dry eye in the house. I wish Mac could be around to see this. She spent all of the years she was here fighting to win the respect of her fellow officers, and to the day she died I'm not sure if she ever knew just how respected, how loved, she truly was. I only wish she could have known. 

            "Dismissed."

­­-----------------------------

Meanwhile…

Desert, Middle East (Coordinates Unknown)

Mac

            I rack a round into the chamber and wish we'd been able to find better weaponry than what we had with us after we fell off the train. After a few days wandering the desert, though, I suppose even our sniper rifles are a blessing. We haven't found anything to shoot, which is a good thing, but the towns we've found have been very small and not able to help us beyond providing the basic food and water, which we've traded for money and various other things we had tucked away in our pockets. In Bosnia it became a habit of ours to carry hard candy and little trinkets for the kids we ran across, and without discussing it we did the same thing this time. We've traded some of it, but I've looked the other way a few times while she gave some away to children in the towns where the families didn't have water or food to trade. We're headed to Kalik now, a mid-sized village a few more miles from here. There should be some sort of military or peacekeeping garrison there, and Andie will sweet-talk them into giving us a ride out to Chitral, where the closest CIA installation is located.

            I'm still not sure why we're looking for the local CIA presence, and I hate to think how insufferable Webb will be if his people end up rescuing us. It's much more likely, however, that they'll tell us we're not worth the chance of blowing their cover and turn us back out into the sand. That's if they don't kill us first, ensuring that our loose lips can't sink any ships. Andie, on the other hand, is painfully optimistic. I think that because she's still technically one of them, she thinks they'll automatically help us. I'm going to hate it if I have to be the one to explain to her that the spooks aren't great about paying their due.

            "Hanging in there, Cleo?" She asks the question in Russian, since we agreed that speaking English isn't a great idea out here and she doesn't speak Farsi. Her accent would be hideous anyway. Her first language is French, her second German. She massacres any Arabic language she attempts, as we found out in Bosnia three years ago.

            "I'm just peachy, Meph," I reply. "I love the desert. Like a big beach, but no seagulls. Or water." This is blatant sarcasm, and even she picks up on it.

            "Excuse me for asking," she says, but she's smiling. For the first time, I wonder how much of her own optimism is sarcasm in disguise. "Not much further. The village is right up ahead."

            I give the massive expanse of sand in front of us a long-suffering look, and she laughs. "I wish Onstar were here. He could give you the exact mileage. I'd guess no more than fifty, though. We made good progress."

            "Yeah, a week of my life spent traipsing through the land that air conditioning forgot." I pause. "Make that one more weeks of my life. I'd forgotten about the first forty-six."

            "I miss those days," she says. My eyebrows shoot up toward my hairline.

            "You miss Bosnia? I promise you, Andrea Monroe, you're the only one."

            She laughs again. I wish I had the energy to laugh. 

            "Things were simpler then." She sighs. "Our team was simpler then. We were together so long..."

            I give her a warning look. "You know better than to get attached to an I-Force team."

            "I know, I know. But we were such a good team. You, me, Onstar, Scotty..."

            "Terry, Frost, Toto, and Lance." I smile at the first memory that springs to mind; the eight of us trying to sleep in our two jeeps in the middle of the desert the night Toto found the scorpion in his boot. I've never laughed so hard in my life. "We were a good team."

            "The best. Now it's me and seven new kids as the Sevens. None of the camaraderie, none of the trust. I feel like a camp counselor instead of a team coordinator. It's hard sometimes. And they rotate the FNKs so often I barely know their first names. I haven't been on a named team since Bosnia." She gives me an appraising look. "You don't want to come back full-time, do you?"

            "Not on a dare," I tell her. "You were right about JAG. Once I gave it a shot, I really did start to like it."

            "I knew you would. How's that hot Navy pilot?"

            I blush, and immediately I have her undivided attention. "I knew there was something there. The way you used to talk about him...are the two of you –"

            "No!" I sigh. "I wish. He never would, though."

            She throws a companionable arm around my shoulders, pushing her rifle to the other side. 

            "Wanna talk about it?"

            "Yeah."

            Suddenly, all the remaining distance between us is gone and I'm pouring my heart out like our last three years apart were three days. Andie was the first good female friend I ever had and it really hurt when we were split up, despite what I told her about not getting attached. Our easy relationship was a silver lining in the middle of my personal crises that year: going from law school to Bosnia, missing John and hating myself for it, wishing for someone to care about me. Andie and I are more alike than anyone gives us credit for, and we understand each other. 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I stole a line from MASH. I couldn't help myself. See if you can spot it. :)

-----------------------------

Desert, Middle East (Coordinates Unknown)

Mac

            I've almost finished telling Andie everything that's happened since the last time we spoke, right after Uncle Matt's trial. All of the things Harm and I have been through together, Dalton, Coster, and my feelings for my partner. Her lips press together when I talk about Palmer, and I wonder if they know each other. Technically, she works for the DSD. When I reach the events of the past month, with Chris's return and subsequent death and my Article 32 and Admiral's Mast, she goes very quiet. I watch her for some sign of the universal disgust the rest of my friends treated me with when they found out, but she only squeezes my shoulders and forgives me with an easy smile. 

            "Looks like you won the 'worst month' contest. When we get back, I owe you an ice cream."

            I reach over to give her a tight hug, grateful beyond words and knowing she'll never understand why. It's just not in her nature to judge me like that. She's been judged too many times herself. She smiles back at me, ruffling my hair playfully, and I feel better about life in general than I have in months, despite the fact that we're still in the middle of the desert. 

            "Hot fudge sundae?"

            "Of course."

            "Nuts?"

            "Sure."

            "Whipped cream?"

            "Why not?"

            I pause for dramatic effect. "Two scoops?"

            She sighs. "Only if you'll sit the debriefing with me."

            I consider that offer for a moment. I'm not a big fan of I-Force debriefings. However, a session with Control and Command, assuming they're still who they were when I last served in I-Force, is going to be much more pleasant than a few hours in the admiral's office, which is what I'll get if this isn't classified past his clearance, which it won't be unless I agree to sit the debriefing. I know how tricky Meph is; she can be an absolutely merciless when she thinks it's necessary. It's how she earned her nickname.

            "As much as I hesitate to make a deal with the devil, I suppose it's the lesser of two evils," I reply finally, and she chuckles. "You're on, Mephistopheles." 

-----------------------------------

Arlington National Cemetery

Harm

            I stand rigidly at attention in my winter uniform, cold from the inside out. Mac's Uncle Matt is here, out of Leavenworth long enough to attend the funeral and standing on my right. Her mother, who I'm sure it took Webb days to track down, sits on his other side. All of our friends, co-workers, and associates are here. I recognize at least six former defendants she helped to prove innocent, and the mother and father of one enlisted woman whose murderer she put behind bars. Bobbi Latham, Webb himself, Sydney Walden. Mom and Frank, who are sitting towards the back. They tried to talk to me earlier, but I begged off until after the service. I focus on trying to identify every person here because I can't allow myself to focus on the words Chaplain Turner is reading. My old buddy Sturgis Turner is somewhere behind me; I think the chaplain called him when he heard Mac was my partner. I appreciate what they're trying to do, but I don't want to talk about it. There's nothing to say. 

            Chaplain Turner finally finishes and steps back, and the marines step forward with the folded flag for Mac's mother. I want to cry, but I can't. I don't have the energy, and I know it won't change anything. All the tears in the world won't bring her back. 

            The first bang of the 21 gun salute catches me off guard, and I jump. Mac would have teased me mercilessly. 'Marines don't jump under fire, flyboy.' 'Marines don't duck. They take cover, but they never duck.' Her words echo in my head, and still the tears won't come. 

            When the service is over, they move to award the medal. Damn the medal. If she'd been a little less heroic, a little less courageous, maybe she'd still be alive. In my heart, I know that isn't right. If she'd been less of a hero, she wouldn't have been the marine I knew and loved. Still, I would give anything now to have her back.

            The SecNav moves to present the medal to Mac's mother, and she shakes her head. Her hands are still clutched around the flag. Nelson moves to Colonel O'Hara, who shakes his head as well. The SecNav is obviously confused. O'Hara takes pity on him, reaching out to grab...my shoulder?

            "If Sarah can't be with us to accept this, sir, I think it ought to go to her partner. He knew, better than any of us could have, to what lengths her bravery and courage went."

            I flash back on Russia, outside the train depot. 'You've gone further with me than anyone I've known. I'll never forget that.' I'm crying now, even though I swore I wouldn't. I can remember with such clarity the look on her face when I said that. There were so many other times, too. They didn't always seem significant, but looking back I know how much she really did for me. 

            The SecNav hands me a little box, sympathy etched on his features. I guess for Mac's sake even Nelson can lay aside old grudges for a day. My fingers clench on the cool wood, and I nod curtly to him. I don't salute; the box is in my right hand, and I'm not letting go of it. It's all I have.

-----------------------------

Desert, Middle East (Coordinates Unknown) 

Mac

            The sound of an engine gives us both pause, and we turn to see a jeep approaching in the distance. Andie produces a pair of collapsible binoculars and peers at the vehicle through them. 

            "British markings," she says finally. "One guy in a lieutenant's uniform. Boy, how much would your superiors have to hate you to stick you out here by yourself?"

            "I don't know," I reply, watching as the jeep gets closer and closer to us. "But if he's British, he's got an obligation to help peacekeepers in distress."

            "Even Russian ones like us," she agrees, and we share a smile. We might be getting back to civilization sooner than I thought. 

---------------------------------------------

The next day

Judge Advocate General Headquarters

Harm

            Webb pops the tape into the VCR in the admiral's office. 

            "I'd like to go on record saying I don't think this is a great idea."

            "You're on the record, Clay. Press the damn button."

            The admiral sounds mad. I wonder again if this is a good idea. I think it might destroy me to see her killed, but I need the closure. I have to be sure she's really gone, or I'm going to wonder for the rest of my life. I wondered with my father; I have to know about Mac.

            On the screen, the fuzzy image is resolving into the face of a pretty girl; probably twenty-six or so, a blonde with big green eyes. The kind of girl I would have gone after before I fell for my partner. Even as I think of her, Sarah appears on the screen, coming up to throw both arms around the other girl from behind. They're both laughing, and I etch the memory of her smile into my mind. 

            "This is after the mission briefing," Webb explains. "That's Agent Monroe. She was the other casualty." He says the word like it burns his mouth, and I have a moment to wonder about Webb and Monroe before the audio on the tape comes in.

            "-back in the desert with this group," Mac is saying.

            The blonde laughs again. "We missed you, too."

            Mac wrinkles her nose at the girl's BDUs. "You're not wearing that, are you, Andie? That looks terrible. You wore that the last time we went to the front."

            There's laughter all around the room they're in, and the camera pans out to show a group of seven people waving cheerfully at the camera. The man holding the camera turns to the mirror behind him, and now we can see all eight of them. Team 7, billed as the Interdepartmental Task Force's best and brightest. Two sailors, three soldiers, a jetjock, and a CIA agent. And one loan from the USMC, who I know isn't going to come back with them. 

            "Is the tape working?"

            The man gives her a thumbs-up by way of the mirror, and Monroe nods. "Right. Turn it off and let's get out of here."

            The picture goes momentarily dark and is replaced with footage of the desert. They're moving at a fast clip, and the camera pans to show the vehicle the cameraman's riding in. It looks bigger than an 18-wheeler, and I wonder again just what they were doing out there when he starts to talk. 

            "Big lot of nothing," he mutters. "Join the Army. Meet a bunch of crazy covert operatives and go play in a sandbox."

            "Oh, stop bitching," says the jetjock, who's sitting next to him. "It could be worse. You could be Mackenzie."

            I stiffen at the foreshadowing, but the cameraman merely chuckles.

            "Poor sap," the jetjock continues. "Stuck on roof patrol with 'Suzy Sunshine, secret agent.'"

            "Hey, the two of them get along," the camera guy replies. The constant change of view tells me he's sitting somewhere with 360 degree mobility; he's taking footage of the surrounding area, probably looking for trouble. "I heard they know each other from cold ops a few years ago. It's the rest of us Monroe drives crazy."

            "Cold ops. She's too damn happy," the zoomie says. "Got that whole Pollyanna thing going on. I don't know how she ended up as a covert op, let alone a cold op."

            "Hey, I'm not complaining. She's a knockout."

            "You know she reviews these tapes after missions."

            "Jeez, Air Force, she knows I think she's hot. I'm married, not dead. Wonder if she knows you think she's Pollyanna, though."

            "She must, Army," he replies. "She's happy, not dead."

            Their laughter is interrupted by the sound of weapons fire, and I can hear a clatter as they both pull out their weapons. The camera guy finds the trouble instantly; there are snipers off to the right side of the vehicle. Mac is returning fire, lying flat against the roof of the vehicle, and Monroe is moving to do the same when she's taken out. 

            Blood splatters against the camera lens and Webb flinches. On screen, Mac shouts and makes a wild grab for Monroe's hand, trying to keep her from falling off the roof. She connects, but the added weight pulls her up to her knees, giving the snipers the target they're looking for. She's hit three times that I count, jerking backward with each shot, and the momentum carries them both off the roof of the vehicle and onto the sand below. The camera is unattended now, both men returning fire. 

            "Gil, get that camera around to them!"

            The order comes from further away than the other voices, and the weapons fire reduces as Gil grabs the camera, wiping a sleeve across the lens and zooming the focus in on Mac and Monroe. They're both lying in the sand, covered in blood. Mac's hand is still stretched out to Monroe, who has her long-scope rifle clenched reflexively against her chest. Neither one is moving and it's obvious they're not going to start. Gil moans unintelligibly.

            "Two black arrows," he calls back, and there's creative cursing from the man who was ordering him around earlier. "We can't just leave them!"

            "We got the shooters, Gil. This train doesn't stop."

            Now Gil's cursing, and the zoomie cuts in quietly.

            "You know he's right," he tells the Army officer. "Monroe's orders. Hell or high water, Gil, we get the cargo out of here."

            Gil sniffs. "Since when do I listen to her?"

            "Call it a last request."

            "Damn," Gil says, softly, and then the tape goes black.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: See Harm. See Harm angst. Angst, Harm, angst!

------------------------------------

Mac's Apartment, Georgetown

Harm

            Sitting on the floor of Mac's apartment, I stare at the manila envelope she left me. I want desperately to know what's in it, but if I open it, it's over. She's gone.

            I laugh bitterly at my own naiveté. The funeral is over. She's gone whether I open it or not. I give the wooden box on the coffee table a long look, then pinch the prongs holding the envelope flap closed and reach in to pull out a few sheets of white paper and a legal pad. The white paper is on top, so I start there.

Dear Harm,

            If you're reading this, it means I didn't come back. First off, you have to know I chose to go on this mission. It was strictly voluntary. I can hear you now, mocking the Marine Corps need to 'storm the beaches' at every opportunity. It's funny, but from where I've been sitting it looks like you're the one who's always storming the beaches. You're the most aggressive lawyer I've ever met. I think it comes from being a pilot. You fly high and shoot straight. I've always admired that. 

            Second, I have to apologize. There are a lot of things in here I wanted to say face to face, but the time was never right. My only real regret, of the many stupid things I've done in my life, is that I never told you how much you truly mean to me. There are so many things about you I aspire to and admire. You asked me why I followed you halfway around the world. I would have followed you all the way around it. 

            Why, though. That's a complicated question. When we came back from Russia, I did what I'm prone to do when I hit a problem I can't solve: I made a list. After a fair amount of deliberation, I included it here for you to read. Understand that I didn't write it for you, so it might not all make sense. There are points on that list I made when I was furious with you, and points I made when I was so glad to know you I couldn't see straight. I hope when you read it you'll understand why so many of those things were left unsaid. Some would have damaged our friendship; others would have crossed the firm line of propriety we kept between us to the very end. 

            As for you, I can only hope you keep doing what you do best. I know how much you want to go back to flying, and there's a part of me that wants you to go. The rest of me says you should stay right where you are. You have a great career, Harm, and men's shoes are much more comfortable than women's. I won't suggest you go out and find a good man, but you did tell me once that you wanted a family. If you ever decide to do anything in my memory, have that family and think of me sometimes while you're dancing with your wife or playing basketball with your kids. That family was my fondest wish. Take care of them.

            There's not much else I can say that isn't on that list, so I'll just end this like I ought to have begun that day in the rose garden. Green light, Commander.

            All my love,

            Sarah Mackenzie

            I'm not sure how many tears I can possibly have left, even as more of them make tracks down my cheeks. I wanted that family, but I wanted it with her. Damn it all, I never got to tell her that. She deserved to hear it. She deserved to know that my fondest wish was that family, too. She deserved to know how much I loved her. And I, coward that I am, never got up the nerve to say it. Damn.

            The first page of the legal pad is headed 'Things I never told my partner'. The date next to the entry puts this at just after we returned from Russia.

            'I'm in love with him.'

            The very first entry. I can actually hear my heart break. 

-----------------------------------------------------

Desert, Middle East (Coordinates Unknown)

Mac

            Andie is sprawled across the whole back seat of the jeep; I think she's asleep. I'm making polite conversation in falsely accented English with the British soldier who offered us a ride into Kalik. He's polite and well-spoken and absolutely gorgeous. If I weren't head over heels for Harm, I could very easily fall for this guy. 

            Andie and I are keeping our cover that we're a couple of Russian peacekeepers who got separated from our company. Kellington – that's his name, Leftenant Brandon Kellington – has graciously offered to backtrack far enough to 'reunite' us with our people in Kalik, where we'll slip away and hopefully find a way to Chitral and her CIA contact. I wish we could just tell him who we are and ask him to drop us at the nearest Marine Corps installment, but if Andie gets caught out here by anyone but her own people, someone might put two and two together and tie us to the mission. It was set up to look like a sneak attack by the group's rivals, not a strike by a covert operations force, and the last thing we need is an international incident over the hostages or the missiles. 

------------------------------------

Mac's Apartment, Georgetown

Harm

            'He makes me angrier than any man I've ever met. Sometimes I want to wring his neck. He's cocky, self-assured, and so damn gorgeous, and he knows it. It kills me.'

            I lean back and reach for my drink: tonic water with lime. I thought it was only fitting. This entry is covering one of the many times we were on opposite sides of the courtroom and I pushed her buttons on purpose, just to make her respond to me. I think it was some juvenile way to make sure she was paying attention to me. It was my own fourth-grade method of letting her know how I felt, like when boys tease girls on the playground. I loved her. Why couldn't I have just admitted it one of the hundred thousand times I had the chance?

            'And just when I'm ready to call it quits, either kill him or transfer out of Virginia, he does something sweet. He says something nice, or apologizes in his own juvenile way, and I melt.'

            I smile at her word choice. She and I have spent so long together, we think on the same adjective wavelength. Apparently we thought on the same emotional wavelength, too. Too bad I never got up the courage to do something about it.

            'He looks great in his uniform. All of them. I'm so glad he went Navy. I lied when I said the dress whites and gold wings were overrated. I rate them higher than anyone I know. A little known fact, though, is that I actually like the winter uniforms better. The blue brings out his eyes. He's gorgeous in anything, though. Uniforms, t-shirts, sweats, boxers...I wish daily that the traffic light system had never been invented.'

            She looks great in everything, too. That night at the bar, when she and Jordan were playing darts...everyone thought I was looking at Jordan. I hope they did, anyway. I wasn't. I was too busy memorizing everything about Sarah's appearance that night. She's beautiful all the time, but that night, in that little shirt that's fueled a billion fantasies since then, I was so hard-pressed to keep from pinning her to a wall and having my way with her, in front of Jordan, Bobbi, and the whole rest of the world. 

            Not like I haven't felt like that before, though. Every time she comes into my office to tease me about something I've done or said, when she gives me that little amused smirk, I want to kiss her senseless. I want her so much. Wanted her, I guess. Wanted her, loved her, and never told her. Could have, should have, would have, didn't. How could I have been such an idiot?

-----------------------------------------------------

Desert, Middle East (Coordinates Unknown)

Mac

            Nearly half an hour later, Andie's awake and talking and Kellington's laughing nervously. I think it's a way to cover his embarrassment that he understands absolutely none of the Russian that Andie is speaking rapid-fire at him. 

            "You could leave the poor man be," I scold in Russian, and she gives me an amused look.

            "That's the last thing he wants," she parries, still speaking Russian. "Here we are in the middle of the desert, and the 'poor man' is driving a few hundred miles by himself on the most boring detail in the world and finds two gorgeous Russian women in desperate need of assistance. This is every lonely soldier's fantasy."

            Torn between amusement and exasperation but unwilling to argue the point, I sink further down into my seat and let my eyes drift shut. If Andie wants to have some fun, far be it from me to stop her. If she's harassing Kellington, that means she's leaving me alone, and I can get some sleep. It should only be an hour or two until we reach Kalik, and from there less than a day and a half to Chitral. I can't wait to get home.

------------------------------------

Mac's Apartment, Georgetown

Harm

            I swing the door open, ready to kill whoever decided this would be a good time and place to disturb me. Jordan Parker, my girlfriend, is standing on the front stoop.

            "Hi," she says, and I turn away. I don't know what to say to her.

            "I can't do this, Jordan."

            "I know." I hear her close the door behind her, and then she walks past me into the kitchen. She bangs around in there for a few minutes and comes back with two mugs of tea. I haven't moved from the spot where she left me. I have no idea what to tell her, and frankly I don't care how she's affected by this. I know my attitude is unfair, but so is my situation. I think my apathy is justified.

            "Take this," she orders, shoving the mug into my hand, and I take it automatically. She sits down on the couch, looks at me, and heaves a big sigh. "Harm, come sit down."

            I give her a belligerent look and she returns it with an impatient one. Conceding the point as unimportant, I join her on the couch.

            "Honey, I'm so sorry."

            Here we go. I don't want platitudes from Jordan. I don't want anything from Jordan. I know that if I had the opportunity I'd trade Jordan for Mac in an instant, and that knowledge makes me vaguely ashamed. 

            "One night, a while ago, we were all at McMurphy's. Do you remember that?"

            That was the night I spent watching Mac and pretending to watch Jordan. Yeah, I remember all right.

            "That night, I told Mac I'd only have you until she decided she wanted you. She told me she wasn't a threat to me."

            I give her a bewildered look. I knew nothing about this conversation. 

            "Harm, I knew you were in love with her. I always knew we were temporary; just a quick fix until the two of you figured it all out."

            "You should have clued me in," I say, surprised at how raspy my voice is. It must be all the crying. "If I'd known, maybe this wouldn't have happened."

            "You can't blame yourself, Harm." There's the psychiatrist in her, rearing its ugly head. 

            "The hell I can't. I could have asked her to stay."

            "She was TDY. That's not your fault."

            "I should have tried! There has to be something I could have done!" I drop my head into my hands. "She was mad at me when she left. I told her she was running away from her responsibilities. Taking the easy way out. The last conversation we had was an argument." I don't know where that admittance came from; I hadn't told anyone about the argument we had right before she left. I didn't want anyone to know. Strangely, telling Jordan makes me feel a little better. I have it off my chest.

            Jordan reaches out a hand to rest it on my shoulder, and I jerk away. It isn't right for me to let her touch me. I'm not thinking about her. I don't want it to be her hand. For a moment I think about pretending she's Sarah, and then another stab of conscience hits me. That's not right, not honorable. The honorable thing to do is throw Jordan out before I do something I'll regret.

            "I think you should leave."

            She sighs, and for a moment I think she's going to ignore me. Then she rises, setting her mug down and grabbing her purse. 

            "If you want to talk, you know where to find me. I truly am sorry, Harm."

            I close my eyes and keep them that way until I hear the door shut behind her. 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Alert! Plot contrivance ahead! I take no responsibility for any nosebleeds caused by the angry brains of individuals trying too hard to understand my explanation for the survival of the Dynamic Duo…it seemed like a good idea at the time.

--------------------------------------------

IDTF Satellite Installation, Germany

Mac

            A week, six CIA agents, and a few hundred frequent flyer miles later, Andie and I are back on semi-American soil. The I-Force satellite station is technically part of the embassy, so it's considered American. I for one would really rather be back on American soil that is part of the continental US, but Andie insisted on a stretching break between flights, so she and I are hanging out on the air strip while our pilot goes in to the building to grab a soda before he flies us to the airport in Paris, from which we're proceeding to Dulles, where we should arrive in about six hours. We traded out our ruined BDUs and kevlar jackets for clean clothes a few minutes ago and grabbed quick showers in the women's quarters here. I feel almost human again, although I think I could drink about fifteen gallons of water without any trouble, and I won't need to tan again for the rest of my natural life. 

            "Hey, Monroe," a male voice calls from the direction of the building. Andie and I both turn toward it and she smiles broadly, waving at the approaching figure. 

            "What are you doing out here, Bradford?" she asks when he's in hearing range. The tall man grins ruefully.

            "Visiting you?" he guesses. She puts her hands on her hips and gives him an exasperated look, and he rolls his eyes. "I'm taking over at Port Said. I'm flying out in a few hours."

            "Hey, congratulations, Bradford," she says, looking genuinely happy for him. "Major Sarah Mackenzie, meet Allen Bradford. He and I went through I-Force basic together. The major and I just got back from the sandbox."

            "I've heard about you, Major," Bradford says, offering me a hand and an engaging smile. "You were part of Team 7 back when it was the I-capades. People still talk about the work you guys did in Bosnia."

            "Then you know Agent Monroe did most of it," I reply, shaking the proffered hand. "It was a good system; she kicked the ass and the rest of us took the names."

            He laughs loudly, clapping Andie on the shoulder. "I'm sure she did. She can be a real demon." He winks at me as Andie rolls her eyes in resignation. "Headed home, huh? Mission over?"

            "Over and out," Andie agrees. "I'm not sure how the rest of the team fared, though. The two of us ended up taking the scenic route home."

            He raises an eyebrow. "Do C and C know you're here?" He shakes his head almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth. "Nevermind. They know every time one of us so much as breathes near the Germany installation. Of course they know you're here."

            "I really expected a message waiting for me when I got here," she admits. "'Dear Agent Monroe: Took you long enough. All our love, C and C.'"

            He chuckles again. "You're a firecracker, Monroe. I'm gonna miss you in Port Said."

            "Hey, it's out in BFE. Literally. If I keep screwing up easy missions, I'm sure I'll be assigned out there eventually to scrub your floors or something."

            "And everyone knows no one scrubs floors like Andrea Monroe," he agrees, squeezing her shoulder before releasing it. "I've got a secure line with me. Do you want to call in and ask how the mission ended?"

            She contemplates it for a moment, then shakes her head. "Nah. If it was blown, there's nothing I can do now. Besides, then there would have been a message waiting here for me warning me not to go home because C and C would have been out for my blood. No message, so it must have gone all right." She glances over at me. "If you don't mind, though, the major's been out of touch with her office for almost two weeks. I think she might like to call home and check in."

            I'm ready to protest – I don't want to be any trouble or tie up his phone line – but he hands me the phone before I can open my mouth. "Knock yourself out," he invites. "It's hotter out than I thought it would be, considering it's technically not summer right now. I'm gonna run back in and get a soda before my plane leaves for Egypt."

             "Say hi to our pilot if you see him," she says wryly, and he chuckles as he heads back toward the building.

            Ignoring their side conversation, I take Bradford's cell phone and punch in ten numbers as familiar to me as my own name. As the call rings through, I can't suppress a smile. I'm ready to go home.

            "JAG Headquarters, Petty Officer Tiner speaking."

            "Tiner, it's Major Mackenzie. Put me through to the admiral?"

            There's silence on the line, and then Tiner practically snarls at me.

            "That's not funny, you sick son of a bitch."

            There's a loud click, and I'm left staring in disbelief at the phone in my hand. Andie eyes me warily.

            "Did he sound...upset?"

            I shrug, bewildered. "I don't know what I did. I've never heard Tiner speak to anyone like that."

            She shakes her head, eyes widening, and from the look on her face someone's career is about to be over.

            "Did you wonder why they didn't send a unit after us?"

            I give her a puzzled look. "You ordered them not to. Very forcefully."

            "Yes, and I thought they were finally following my orders. But there's no precedent for that assumption. They've never followed my orders before. You military people love to flaunt your ability to not listen to my kind, since technically I don't outrank anyone. What's the only other reason they wouldn't have sent a team?"

            I think for a moment, and then it hits me. "They think we're really dead," I gasp, horrified. A multitude of thoughts run through my mind, but foremost is that if the admiral believes I'm dead, he'll give Harm that letter. He wasn't ever supposed to get that letter; not if I had to come back and face what it said.

            "Meph, they can't think we're dead. They all knew about the jackets." A suspicion strikes me, and I turn to give her an incredulous look. "You didn't tell them about the jackets."

            "It's classified, and they aren't a named team so they don't have I-Force authorization. If we had briefed them about the jackets, they would have known what they were really wearing was top secret, and we couldn't take that risk."

            "We were using these things in Bosnia! How are they still classified?" The jackets really are a marvelous invention; they're a layer of regular camouflage fabric, then a layer of stunt packs with fake blood in them that shatter if you hit them hard enough. Under it all is an invention of the DOD's, a new form of kevlar that only has to be about a tenth of the normal thickness to be completely effective, even against hollow points and anti-armor bullets. They don't stop grenades or missiles, but that's about all they don't stop. On top of that, the blood is enough to convince anyone that they've killed you long enough for you to recover and take a few shots at them. Unless your standing orders are to play dead so no one finds out what you're really wearing. Sounds like standing orders I've heard recently, actually, now that I think about it.

            "They're in the final month of testing. You may have noticed they've improved in quality since the last time you used one," she replies dryly. She's right; I can actually feel my chest. Last time I was numb for a week.

            "But if you didn't tell the Sevens, you must have known they'd think we were dead."

            "Yeah, they would," she agreed. "But the mission tapes are reviewed by Command and Control. They would have corrected the misunderstanding and sent a named team in after us."

            I frown, thinking about that for a minute.

            "Why?" I ask finally.

            "Why what?" She looks amused. "We might not be the Marine Corps, Sarah, but we don't ditch our people in the desert. Not permanently, anyway."

            "C and C had no way of being certain we were alive. These jackets have failed before. If they'd sent in a team to find us, or even told Team 7 what happened, they'd blow the cover on our classified body armor. They probably assumed that if we were alive, we would be competent enough to rescue ourselves. Which we were."

            From the look on her face, that never occurred to her. I swear, some of her plans are as poorly thought out as Webb's – they sound good at the onset, but there's always some major flaw.

            "Andie, is there anyone else that knows about the jackets who might see the tape? Webb?"

            She shakes her head. "He doesn't know," she says finally. "He might suspect I'm not dead, because I'm betting C and C haven't requested a replacement for me from the CIA yet, but he can't do anything about it. If C and C say we're dead, we're dead until we turn up for debriefing."

            Something else occurs to me. "You said they're in the final month of testing. How are they going to unveil them?"

            She looks at me for a long moment before she figures out where I'm going. "No way. They wouldn't...would they?"

            "A real live trial, where the jackets are proven to convince friend and enemy alike of a confirmed kill, and then the dead operatives come back. Sounds like a hell of a selling point to me."

            "You think this was a setup?" She sounds furious. I can sympathize, but I don't think that's what happened here.

            "I doubt it. Our mission was too important to remove the two senior operatives for shock value. Still, once they got the opportunity it was probably too good to pass up."

            Andie is practically vibrating with fury. "I'll give them a good opportunity," she snaps, and then falls silent. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head, but I wait until she speaks again to ask her what she's thinking. 

            "Sarah, give me that phone."

            "What is it?" I inquire, handing it to her without protest. She scowls, punching in a string of numbers. 

            "One of the primary buys for these jackets is supposed to be from the CIA. If anyone was allowed to see that footage, they were. And I can think of one CIA agent who might have let exactly what happened leak to JAG."

            "Webb," I breathe. "I knew he had to be involved with this."

            She gives me a dour look and waits impatiently for her call to ring through. 

----------------------------------------------

Judge Advocate General Headquarters

Harm

            Someone knocks on the door to my office. I ignore the knock, hoping they'll go away, but the door swings open anyway. Sturgis Turner is standing on the other side.

            "Got a minute, Harm?"

            I give him a long look, then sigh. "What can I do for you, Sturgis?"

            "You can take me out to lunch."

            I shake my head, but I'm smiling. This is the Sturgis Turner I remember. "I've got a hearing in twenty."

            "So we'll eat fast. Come on, Rabb."

            We wind up going down the block to a little deli that brings back bittersweet memories of numerous lunch breaks with my partner, arguing over cases or collaborating on strategies for a defense or prosecution. Since she died, I've come to realize how much of my life centered around her. Everything I do, everywhere I go, holds some memory of Sarah Mackenzie. It's torture.

            "Aren't you going to ask me what I'm still doing here, Harm?"

            It suddenly occurs to me that he's been in town since the funeral. 

            "Shouldn't you have shipped back out?"

            He leans back in his chair, giving me a long look. "I've changed my designator," he says finally.

            "To what?"

            "I've just finished law school."

            I take a moment to process that. "Hey, good for you, Sturgis. You didn't tell me. Are you taking a posting in DC?"

            He doesn't say anything, and then I realize which posting he must be taking.

            "They asked you to replace her."

            "I don't want to replace anybody, Harm. Somebody has to pick up the caseload. JAG needs a new lawyer, and I took the job."

            I want to argue, but I know it's true. I don't have to like it, though, and I'm all set to be belligerent about it when a little voice in my head reminds me that he didn't have to pull me aside and talk to me. He could have just shown up at staff call. He's showing me a courtesy, and I can't in good conscience return that with obnoxiousness, no matter how clear I want to make it that nobody can take Mac's place.

--------------------------------------------

IDTF Satellite Installation, Germany

Mac

            Andie is hissing something into the receiver in French, and I realize that she must not want me to be able to follow the conversation or she'd be speaking English. That's not a good sign. I need to find out what's happening, and I'll be more likely to get it out of Webb than Andie.

            "Give that to me!" I snap in my best drill instructor voice, and she hands me the phone reflexively. "Webb?"

            His relief is palpable, even through the phone line. "Mac."

            "Tell me this is your fault."

            He clears his throat. "It's no one's fault, Major. The CIA recovered the IDTF footage of the two of you being shot off that train."

            "We were wearing kevlar!"

            "You looked dead."

            "We're not!"

            "I can tell," he replies dryly. "Put Monroe back on, will you?"

            "The hell I will," I snarl, really getting into my rant. "You told everyone we were dead!"

            "Well, we thought you were. IDTF wasn't talking. We thought your people deserved to know what happened."

            Suddenly I can see a more urgent course of action than just reaming Webb out for something he really isn't responsible for.

            "You have to go to JAG. You have to tell them the truth. In person, Clay. They didn't believe me over the phone, they sure as hell aren't going to believe you."

            "What?"

            "Just go, Webb."

            "The admiral's going to break my nose again." 

            "I'll break more than that if your ass isn't already headed for the door."

            He gives a gusty sigh. "Before or after I speak to Team 7?"

            I think about that. "After," I decide finally. I-Capades or not, they were our team out there and they have the right to be the first to know the truth. "Then you can pick us up at Dulles and finish explaining yourself to Monroe's satisfaction."

            "Then we'll never leave Dulles," he informs me dryly. "When are you coming in?"

            I give him the flight information our pilot gave us concerning the flight that will bring us from Paris to Dulles. He copies it down, promises to be on time, and hangs up on me before I can let Andie loose on him again.

            "You'll get your turn," I console her, handing her the now-silent phone. "In person, at the airport."

            She sighs, but she's smiling. "Well, I don't really want to make a scene."

            "Liar," Bradford says from right behind her. "And your pilot says he's ready whenever you are." She turns to him, handing him his phone and shaking her head. 

            "Sorry we've got to run. I wish we had a little more time to catch up."

            "Rain check," he offers easily. "You, me, two scrub brushes and the floors of Port Said."

            "Deal," she chuckles, shaking his hand as the two of us head for our plane. 

            "He seems nice," I tell her, and she nods.

            "One of the few decent guys in the business," she informs me. "You ready to go home?"

            "Oh, yeah," I say, contemplative. "But is home ready for us?"

            She doesn't reply. 


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: If I owned JAG, Gunny would have been working for Andie a long time ago.

A/N: The quote from MASH was BJ telling Hawkeye, "You're not wearing that, are you? You wore that the last time we went to the front!" Expect more quotes as time goes on, as google and I renew our quote-searching relationship. 

            One of the following will not appear in the next chapter: Webb, coffee, H/M schmoopyness, a reference to Russia and/or Jamaica, waiting in line at the baggage claim, hand-holding, making new friends. Which of these things is not like the others?

----------------------------------------------

Judge Advocate General Headquarters

Chegwidden

            I'm going to kill the man in front of me. I may have done him some minor bodily harm in the past, but this time he's a goner. 

            "Whose fault is this?"

            He clears his throat. "Actually, AJ, it isn't anyone's fault-"

            "The hell it isn't!" I'm furious. Snapping-Webb's-neck furious. "How long have you known about this?"

            "Four hours."

            I stop in mid-rant. "Four hours?"

            Webb sighs. "There was traffic on the Beltway. Plus, I had to tell the rest of their team before I came to tell you." At the look on my face, he backpedals admirably. "Mac's orders."

            My heart leaps. "You talked to her?"

            "If it makes you feel better, she called here first."

            "What? I didn't hear about it! I can't believe anyone in this office would have kept something like that from me, Webb."

            "I believe she spoke to your yeoman."

            I raise an eyebrow, pressing the intercom button.

            "Tiner, get in here."

            Less than a second passes before he's in my office, managing to stand at attention and give Webb a suspicious eye at the same time.

            "You wanted to see me, sir?"

            "Tiner, did you get any interesting phone calls this morning?"

            "Ah, yes, sir. A prank call." He gives Webb another look. "Does this have anything to do with that, sir?"

            Suddenly I realize what must have happened. Tiner thought the major was actually someone pulling a prank. I can't imagine what he said to her. I hope she doesn't kill him for it.

            "What was the call, Tiner?"

            "Someone claiming to be Major Mackenzie, sir."

            "What did you say?"

            He flushes and I have my answer. "Forget it, Tiner. I can guess. I probably would have done the same thing. However, we have reason to believe it wasn't a prank."

            He looks confused for a moment, and then shocked comprehension dawns on his face. "Major Mackenzie – she's alive?"

            The hope in his voice makes me smile. "It appears she is, Petty Officer. Mr. Webb here was just explaining to me how the CIA came to believe she was killed when she wasn't."

            Now Tiner looks as angry as I am. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

            Here we go. I want to hear this. "Granted."

            Tiner turns to face Webb. "You bastard!" Hah. Here it comes. "You let us believe she was dead! Commander Rabb –" He stops. I don't blame him. I'm not sure what to say about Rabb, either. "When the major died, he might as well have gone with her. How could you do that to him? How could you let him – all of us – suffer like that?"

            Webb looks beleaguered. "Our intelligence was incorrect. That's not my fault!"

            "You should have known!" This I didn't think I'd ever see; Webb and my yeoman in a shouting match. "You're supposed to be some hotshot spy! You should have made it your responsibility! The major was your friend. So was the commander."

            Webb grows quiet and I realize Tiner may have gone too far. I know Webb doesn't have many close friends, and I think Tiner's just voiced what Webb's probably been thinking to himself since he heard from Mac.

            "That was why I told him in the first place," he says, his tone clipped. "I guess I shouldn't have bothered."

            Tiner's quiet now, too, and I take the opportunity to forestall any more arguing. "Tiner, call Rabb in here, will you? I think he should hear the good news straight from the source."

            He disappears out the door and I turn my back on Webb, trying to give him a moment to pull it together without seeming to care too much. He and I do have our reputations to uphold, after all.

----------------------------------------------

Judge Advocate General Headquarters

Harm

            The admiral is looking out the window, pointedly ignoring Webb, who looks like he's just taken the verbal beating of his life. When I shut the door behind me he turns, giving me a smile the likes of which I haven't seen from my commanding officer in weeks. 

            "At ease, Commander," he says, before I can even come to attention. "Mr. Webb has come across a development I believe you'll be interested in hearing."

            I'm fully prepared to give Webb the same uninterested attention I've been giving everything in my life since I lost Mac, but something about the way Chegwidden is grinning makes me wonder what Webb could possibly have to share. 

            "Mac's alive," he says without preamble. "She and Monroe were playing dead to ensure the success of their mission. They're in the air right now, headed to Dulles."

            My jaw moves, but no sound comes out. For the first time in my life, I can't find the words. I'm completely speechless. 

            "You did hear the man, didn't you, Commander?"

            That's Chegwidden, my addled brain reminds me. The admiral. Have to answer the admiral when he asks you a direct question. I manage a stiff nod in response, still unable to form intelligible words. 

            "Well, then, get going." 

            I give him an odd look. Go where? 

            "Don't you want to go get her?" My eyes light up. Do I? Oh, do I ever. She's alive. Sarah's alive. Suddenly, instead of having no words, I have too many. They're fighting for the right to be heard. All the things I never told my partner. 

            "Webb, get him over to Dulles." Chegwidden looks at me, and I know he knows I'm not over the shock and firing on all cylinders yet when he tells Webb, "And don't let him walk into any walls on the way."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Ah, nothing says romance like the ambience of a crowded loud nasty airport during rush hour in DC…with this in mind, I'm going to pretend like there aren't hoards of sticky screaming children and their directionally challenged parents running around while this chapter is taking place. Let's just say the PWP vibes scared them all away. 

---------------------------------------------------------

Dulles International Airport, Washington, DC

---------------------------------------------------------

-------------

Harm

            There she is. She's leaning up against a wall near the Starbucks on the airport concourse, holding a cup of coffee and chatting with the blonde agent from the videotape. The woman – Monroe, I think – says something and Sarah laughs, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. When she opens them again, she's looking right at me.

----------

Mac

            I stop laughing. Andie gives me a funny look, but before I can say anything she follows my line of sight over to the two men on the other side of the concourse. With an indulgent smile she takes the coffee from my hand, stepping away from me. All of my attention is on Harm. The look on his face is one I've seen a few times: in Russia, once at McMurphy's, that day in the admiral's office when I told him it was getting dark. It's awe and pride and...I don't know what else. I always hoped the third component was love. 

-------------

Harm

            I'm not sure how I get over to where she is, since I can't feel my legs, but suddenly I'm standing in front of her. I reach out with a trembling hand to touch her face, to make sure she's really here. My fingertips touch warm, familiar skin, and I try to smile but the expression keeps breaking apart. 

            "Harm?" she whispers. Something in me snaps, and I need to hold her like I've never needed anything in my whole life. I wrap her in my arms, crying silent tears into her hair as I cling to her.         

            "I love you," I whisper over and over, kissing her hair, her cheek, her forehead, any part of her I can reach without letting go. I've wanted this, needed this, so desperately. I don't deserve a second chance, but I've got it and I'm not going to waste it. 

-------------

Mac

            I'm in his arms and he's kissing me everywhere he can manage. It takes me a moment to decipher his whispers, and then I realize what he's saying. I pull back just far enough to look up at him.

            "Harm?" I ask again, desperate to believe what I'm hearing.

            His eyes are full of wonder. "I love you, Sarah Mackenzie."

            A little moan escapes my throat and then I'm pulling his head down to mine, kissing him with all the passion I've stored up over three years of waiting. I love this man.

            "I love you," I manage to murmur between kisses, and I can feel his lips twitch into a smile against mine. His hands come up to touch my face again, his thumbs brushing my cheeks, and I smile back before recapturing his mouth with mine.

-------------

Andie

            I give the man in front of me a long look. 

            "I guess I can't kill you over this."

            "It wouldn't really be prudent."

            "You're still in trouble."

            "I know." His voice is more confident now that he knows I'm not really mad. I'd like to be, but I spent most of the flight from Paris to DC thinking about why he did what he did. It's glaringly obvious that he was trying to give Sarah's partner some closure by showing him the tape, and I just don't have it in me to get angry at Clay's good, if misguided, intentions.

            "As long as you're aware." 

            His embrace surprises me, and it's a moment before I can hug him back.

            "Good to have you back, Andie."

            I smile. "It's good to be back, Clay."

            We separate, but only far enough for me to rest my head on his shoulder as we watch Sarah and her commander reunite. 

            "Do you think they're ever going to come up for air?"

            "How much trouble would we be in if we just left them there?"

            "I think when they realized we'd left –"

            "Sometime next month –"

            "They'd be pretty mad," I finish, elbowing Clay. "We should interrupt."

            "I guess." We watch for another moment. "Want to get some coffee?"

            I hand him Sarah's. "Help yourself. She'll never notice."

            He chuckles and we settle in for a long wait.

            "Hey, Andie, did I ever tell you about that stakeout in Jamaica last summer, on the beach?"

            "I have the feeling I'm about to be very jealous."

            "Got it in one."

            "You guys get all the fun jobs."

            "Hey, you used to work there too."

            "Yeah, but when I worked there they never let me have any fun. Why do you think I transferred?"

----------------

Mac

            Harm pulls away just far enough to look me in the eye. 

            "I read your letter."

            Despite the fact that I knew he had to have read it, my throat closes up. There were so many things in there I would never have admitted to. He rests his hands on my cheeks, tilting my face up gently.

            "I have so many things to tell you. I don't know where to start." He gives me a tremulous smile. "All the things I never told my partner."

            I can't hold back a smile at the honesty in his eyes. "I think we covered the most important one."

            "Yeah," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss me again. "Yeah, we did."

-----------------

Andie

            Clay and I have taken up residence at one of the cafe tables on the concourse. From here we can keep an eye on the lovebirds and relax a little at the same time. They're going on at least thirty minutes of pure PDA. I can't believe this is the same Sarah Mackenzie I met in Bosnia four years ago, or even the same one I just spent three weeks in the desert with. 

            A hand on top of mine distracts me from them, and I look up at Clay.

            "Andie..."

            He trails off and I'm puzzled. Clay's never had a problem speaking his mind before.

            "Come on, get it off your chest. What's up?"

            He sighs. "I'm glad you're back."

            "You said that already," I remind him. "But thanks."

            "Look, if you're not –"

            "Hey, guys!" calls a familiar voice, and we turn to see Sarah and her commander a few feet away. 

            "Done saying hello?" Clay asks dryly, and I take a moment to wonder what he was going to say before they interrupted.

            "I'm ready to pass out," she replies. Clay rises, coming around to offer me a hand up. I take it gratefully, concurring with Sarah's statement. All I want is a warm bed and a few days to catch up on lost sleep. 

            "I don't believe we've actually met," her Navy commander says, and I stick out my hand.

            "Andrea Monroe."

            "Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr."

            "Nice to meet you, Commander. Now, in the self-absorbed interest of my own well being, might I suggest we all head home so I can get some sleep?"

            He agrees easily, wrapping an arm around Sarah's waist as we head for short-term parking. Clay does the same to me, and I'm bemused by the gesture but appreciative of the support. We don't have any luggage – we left our BDUs and jackets with the I-Force satellite installment in Germany when we picked up the clothes we're wearing now, and everything else we had with us in Afghanistan was brought back by the Sevens. 

            Leaning my head against Clay's shoulder, I watch Sarah and Commander Rabb. He leans in to kiss her jaw, nearly knocking them both off balance, and she giggles. I can't help smiling at the two of them; if anyone deserves to finally be happy, it's Sarah Mackenzie. She's earned it. 

            She glances over at me then, as though she can sense my regard. I wink at her and she returns the gesture, jerking her head in Clay's direction. I raise an eyebrow, puzzled, and she rolls her eyes. Making the hand signal for 'forget it', she snuggles back up to Rabb and I'm left to wonder why on earth she wants me to wink at Clayton Webb. 

----------------

A/N Part 2: Apparently I've started indiscriminately snaking lines from MASH. It's mostly unconscious, I promise… :-D  (landi104)


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own JAG. I do hate school.

A/N: In honor of Easter, let there be warm fuzzies all around!

-------------

En route, Georgetown

Harm

            Webb closes the passenger door for Monroe and heads around to the driver's side. Sarah scoots into the middle seat of the government sedan, buckling her seatbelt before leaning over to rest her head on my shoulder. I smile and pull her close as Webb starts the car, burying my face in her hair and inhaling deeply as we pull out of the airport parking lot. Her hair smells different, unfamiliar, and I recall that she and Monroe didn't have any gear with them. She must have used someone else's shampoo. 

            The thought makes me shift uncomfortably; it's another subtle reminder of how far off she's been over the past few weeks and how grueling trying to live my life has been since I lost her. 

            "Harm?" she murmurs, glancing up at me. I check to see if Monroe and Webb are listening, but they're involved in a quiet debate and don't seem to be taking any notice of us.

            "Mac, I don't even know how to tell you…" My throat closes up, and it's a moment before I can speak again. "Please, don't leave me again. This was all I can take. I think this might've been more than I can take."

            Her hand covers mine, squeezing it in silent sympathy. "I know," she agrees, trying to soothe me, and I shake my head. 

            "No, you don't." My eyes sting with unshed tears. "God, I hope you never know. Mac, I – without you, I didn't have anything left."

            "You would've been alright, Harm." Her confidence in me is audible even in this simple statement, but it is sadly misplaced. 

            "No," I reply, negating her again. "I wasn't going to be alright. My resignation's sitting on my dining room table. It's been ready since just after we found out…" I can't even bring myself to say it, can't use the word 'dead', even if I know full well now that it's not true. "It's been ready for a while. I couldn't take the thought of walking into the bullpen and not seeing you there waiting for me, Mac. Everything in Falls Church reminds me of you. I never knew how much it meant that you were always there until all of a sudden you weren't. I thought maybe a change of scenery would help, so I took a case in Norfolk for a few days, but every Corps uniform I saw felt like a kick in the gut. I'd see a marine and wonder why it had to be you instead of her…why it was you instead of me. How I could have let this happen to you. I haven't been able to look in the mirror since."

------------------

En route, Georgetown

Mac

            "Harm, it wasn't your fault," I protest, dismayed by the picture he's painted of the past few weeks. "There was nothing you could have done."

            He shakes his head. "I was such an idiot," he whispers. "I picked a fight with you. I thought the last conversation I'd ever be able to have with you was that stupid fight. All because I felt betrayed that you were leaving, when I had no right –"

            "You had every right," I interrupt. "Everything you said to me was the truth. I was running away from my problems again. I just didn't have it in me to fight anymore. I needed a break."

            His hand smoothes my hair as sky blue eyes gaze into mine. "Next time, tell me instead of running," he implores. "I'd rather fight for you than with you any day."

            I smile, leaning up to kiss him in a motion that is still new but already as familiar as my own two hands. "Will do."

            The sound of someone clearing their throat gets my attention. I look over to see Andie, the source of the noise, gazing innocuously out the car window. 

            "We're here," Webb announces curtly. I bite my lip to keep from giggling as I wonder how long the car has been parked outside my apartment building. 

            "Thanks, Webb," Harm says, unclasping my seatbelt and his own before reaching for the door handle. 

            "I'll let you know about the debrief," Andie informs me, not looking away from whatever's caught her attention in the parking lot. "Keep your phone on."

            "Sure," I agree, moving to follow Harm as he steps out of the car. "It's been interesting, as usual."

            She makes a noise of agreement and I can tell she's smiling. Ducking my head to clear the doorframe, I don't manage to rise more than an inch off of the seat before Harm is there, catching my elbow with one hand and shielding my head with the other. He shuts the door behind me and we make our way to my building as Webb pulls away.

            Harm tucks his cover under his arm as he digs through his pocket for his keys, and I realize what must have already occurred to him: my keys are with the rest of my stuff at I-Force HQ. He has his spare, though, and opens the door for me with a flourish.

            I flop down on the sofa as he disappears around the corner into the kitchen. This is heaven. My own apartment, my own couch...and my very own Harm, who's coming back from the kitchen with a glass of water. I'll never take water for granted again, I swear. I drain the glass in less than thirty seconds and set it on the coffee table, patting the edge of the couch behind my head for him to come and sit. He grins and lifts my shoulders up, sitting down where they were and resting my head in his lap. His hand strokes my hair as I snuggle up to him.

            "It's so good to be home," I tell him, and I'm surprised at the exhaustion in my voice. I didn't know I was so tired. 

            "You should be in bed," he replies, moving a hand down to rub my shoulder. "I should go."

            "Sleep with me," I say, not realizing how it sounds until it's out of my mouth. "I mean, to sleep. Sleep here. With me."

            He leans down to kiss my forehead. "You sure?"

            "Mmm." I've lost the ability to form coherent words. I can feel my eyes closing, and I don't resist. We'll have time to talk later. As I fall asleep, I feel Harm rise and slide his arms gently under me. The last thing I remember is resting my head against his chest as he carries me to my room.

--------------

Mac's apartment, Georgetown

Harm

            I set her down carefully on her bed. After a moment's deliberation I take off her boots, socks, and pants, intentionally avoiding catching a glimpse of anything improper. They couldn't have been comfortable to sleep in. I think about removing her bra as well, but I don't want to push my luck. 

            I head back out toward the living room, grabbing the overnight bag I keep stored here for emergencies out of the hall closet. I had every intention of camping out on the couch if she didn't invite me in; I can't bring myself to leave her now that I've finally got her back. 

            I strip down and put on a pair of Navy sweatpants, then go back into the bedroom. Once I'm lying next to her, I can't resist pulling her into my arms. She snuggles up against me in her sleep, tucking her head under my chin and resting her torso across my bare chest. Holding her tight against me, I fall asleep counting my blessings.

---------------

Webb's apartment, Alexandria

Andie

            Legs tucked up under me, I sigh in contentment as my head drops back onto the soft black leather of Clay's couch. "Thanks for putting me up, Clay. I'm not sure I would have made it back to Langley in one piece."

            "Anytime," he replies, coming out of his room with a small bundle of clothing. "This ought to do for sleeping in, and there's a spare toothbrush and towels in the linen closet in the bathroom."

            "Give me a minute to remember how my legs work," I propose, patting the seat next to me, and he sits down hesitantly. I'm not sure what's wrong with him, but ever since we left Dulles he's been jumpy. "Nice place," I say as I look around, trying to make conversation. It really is a well-appointed apartment, and the sparse furniture and neutral paint selections make it look bigger than it is. "You either have excellent taste or a great decorator."

            He smiles. "A little of both, actually."

            We sit in silence for another few minutes, and then his arm slips around my waist. I lean into him unconsciously, making a little noise of protest when he pulls us both to our feet.

            "I could just sleep right here."

            "What, on my couch?" I don't think he knows whether to be amused at the idea or affronted that I'd believe he'd take the bed and leave me on the couch. At this point, I'd be happy to sleep on the floor if it meant I could just get some sleep. 

            He leads me to the bathroom door and hands me the pile of clothes. "If you're not out in fifteen minutes, I'm coming in after you."

            "Is that a promise?" I tease. He gives me another odd look and I try to remember if he's ever been bothered by my teasing before. I've got a reputation for being very friendly and fairly lascivious. Many people underestimate me because they think I slept my way to the top and don't actually have any skills, and almost everyone guesses wrong when they try to predict how I'll behave in any given situation because it's so easy for them to look at the way I act and forget how long I've been serving in I-Force and how well I was trained.

            The only exceptions are the original members of Team 7, my old CIA trainer, Command and Control, and a handful of agents I've worked closely with. Clayton Webb is one of them, and while he and I don't know each other as well as we could, we work very well together. His antagonistic attitude is perfect for me to play off of, and we do a fabulous 'good cop, bad cop' routine. I can't imagine why my flirting is putting him off his stride, but I can turn it off for a night. It'll be a relief to drop the facade for a little while, actually.

            "Thank you, Clay," I tell him, putting some sincerity into the words, and he looks reassured. 

            "You're welcome." He closes the door behind him, and I waste no time stripping down and hopping into the shower. The faster I get ready for bed, the faster I get to finally go to sleep.

--------------

Webb's apartment, Alexandria

Webb

            I grab the sheets and blanket I took from the linen closet, setting up a place to sleep on the couch. Every nerve in my body is on fire at the thought that Andrea Monroe is naked in my shower right now, not even twenty feet away, and I tell myself I'm being ridiculous as I head into my bedroom to find a spare pillow. I've had a crush on her for almost two years, but nothing's ever come of it and nothing probably ever will. Besides being about ten years younger than I am, she's also the most beautiful woman I've ever met. Hell, every guy in the DSD spends their working hours drooling over her. 

            That's not really why I'm so hopelessly besotted with her, though. I'll admit that when we met, her looks were the first thing I noticed, but with her they're the first thing anyone notices. We worked together for two months in Texas, monitoring a scheme to smuggle in illegal aliens. Somewhere between our fifth and twentieth all-night stakeout I fell for the girl who laughed at my dumb jokes, preferred hot chocolate to coffee, and worked at her job with a selfless dedication you find in many agents but without the resentment that's so prevalent among people with promising abilities who sign their lives away to protect the interests of their country. She really believes that what she does is the best contribution she can make to the world, and she gives the job the relentless effort and enthusiasm it deserves. 

            Andie's the only person I know whose mere presence makes me want to be a better person. I've never fallen in love, never allowed myself to make that deep a connection to anyone, but she tempts me to stray from that path. And she's in my shower, and she's about to be in my bed. Sweet Jesus, I'm in trouble. 

--------------

Webb's apartment, Alexandria

Andie

            I give the man in front of me a smile as he gestures toward his bed. 

            "I can't throw you out of your bed, Clay. I really would be fine on the couch."

            I know he'll never go for it, having been raised to be a gentleman, and I'm proven right when he shakes his head. 

            "That's not how it works," he advises. "Get some sleep, Andie. Whenever you wake up I'll take you back to Langley."

            "At least share with me," I propose, still not comfortable with making him sleep on his couch. Besides, all dishonest innuendo aside, Clay's a looker. He's so damn straight-laced that I know nothing could ever happen between us, if only because he'd be concerned it might affect our working relationship, but I'm not above using him for a little snuggle time if he doesn't have any objections. 

            "I don't think that's a good idea."

            "I passed kindergarten, Clay. I know how to share."

            "That's what I'm worried about," he rejoins, stepping backwards out the door and turning toward the hallway. "I'll see you in the morning."

            "No you don't," I warn him, catching his arm as he starts to walk away. He turns back to face me with a sigh. "What's bothering you, Clay? You've been like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs since I got back."

            "It's nothing. You ought to be in bed."

            "So should you," I retort. "Look, we're not going to get anywhere with this tonight because I'm too tired to see straight, but tomorrow we're going to talk about your weird behavior. If there's something going on with you and I can help, you can damn well bet I'm going to. Fair?"

            He sighs again. "Just drop it, Andie."

            There's something niggling at the back of my mind, something I'm not remembering that's important here. Something he said or did, something that didn't quite fit...

            "What were you going to say earlier? At the airport? You never did tell me."

            He shakes his head. "Please don't do this."

            "Do what, Clay? Is something going on that I don't know about?" He's insufferable. 

            "I can't." With that revelation, he turns to leave again and it hits me all at once. The way he kept touching me tonight, the aborted conversation in the airport, and the not-so-subtle look Sarah gave me as we were leaving. Maybe he's not as straight-laced as I thought he was. 

            Grabbing his shoulder, I step around to face him and move in close, my nose inches from his. "Am I missing something here?" I ask, sliding my hand from his shoulder to the side of his face. His lips part unconsciously, and in his eyes I can see the truth for myself. "How long?"

            He brings a hand up to brush my cheek, and I lean into his touch. "A long time," he admits. I hold my breath, not sure how I feel about this. Sure, he's a great guy and we could have some fun if we wanted to, but I don't know if he's interested in me because of who I am when I'm working or who I am when I'm myself. It's an occupational hazard, and I steel myself against disappointment..

            His gaze searches mine for a long moment, and I realize he's not going to make the first move. That's a nice change from my norm. Twining my hands behind his neck, I step up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. His response is enough to take my breath away, and I throw my earlier motive questioning out the window. I don't care why he's kissing me, as long as he doesn't stop. I'm no shrinking violet, but I can say with total honesty no one's ever kissed me like this before. My whole body is tingling, and I finally know what the rest of the world spends their lives looking for. It's this feeling, this sensation of belonging that I'm getting just from being tangled in his tight embrace. 

            He pulls away and I give a little moan of protest. I lean in toward him again, but he reaches up to gently remove my arms. 

            "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to get carried away. You really ought to be sleeping."

            I give him an incredulous look as he heads for the door again. 

            "You aren't seriously sleeping on the couch…Clay, where are you going?"

            He smiles, turning in the doorway. "Good night, Andrea." He shuts the door behind him, and I stare at it for a moment before flopping back on the bed. I can't believe he just did that. In my whole life, no one has ever walked away from me while I was in the process of throwing myself at them, and it stings a little. I know he's attracted to me, though. No one who wasn't attracted to me would have kissed me like that. It occurs to me that maybe he's just being a gentleman, like he always is, but the idea of a man being a gentleman with me while I'm blatantly inviting him into bed is almost too shocking to contemplate.

---------------

Webb's apartment, Alexandria

Webb

            She didn't kill me. I kissed her and she didn't kill me. It's a start. I know what the invitation she offered me really was, but I don't want sex. I mean, sure, I want it, but not like this. Mac confided in me once that Andie doesn't expect respect from men in her personal life, which I couldn't understand. She deserves respect, whether she expects it or not, and I plan to show her some. Besides, if my mother caught me treating a woman like Andie seems to expect men to treat her, she'd find some way to ground me. She raised me better than that. 

--------------

Mac's apartment, Georgetown

Mac

            I wake up, momentarily puzzled by my surroundings. Soft, steady breathing from next to me brings my attention to the strong arms wrapped around me, and last night comes back in a rush. Harm is holding me, a little smile dancing at the corners of his lips, and he's as deeply asleep as I've ever seen him. I can't believe he finally told me he loves me. I should go missing more often. 

            I retract that thought immediately; I know it traumatized him. Our conversation in the car shook me. I can't imagine how it would feel to lose him and then have to deal with the knowledge that he loved me all along, and if I'd just opened up we could have been together. At the time, I left him that letter because I thought he deserved to know the truth. Now I'm not sure if it was actually a selfish thing to do. If I'd really been dead, it would have broken his heart. 

            I watch him sleep for a few minutes, thinking about how many opportunities we had to miss before we could admit our feelings. It shouldn't have taken one of us dying to get it out in the open. I know how many times I bit my tongue and refrained from telling him things that might have changed our relationship to being something more than friends. How many times did he do it? How many times were we too afraid to act on what we have between us?

            Deciding that particular train of thought won't take me anywhere I want to go, I rest my head on his chest again and go about the business of getting back to sleep. I've got a few weeks of sleep to make up for, and in his arms is the only place I want to do it.

-------------

Mac's apartment, Georgetown

Harm

            When I wake up she's right where I left her, sprawled across me, breathing deep and even. I watch her for a moment, and then a surge of unreasonable fear hits me. If this is all a dream and I wake up tomorrow morning without her, I won't have the will to go on. I tap her shoulder and she blinks up at me, smiling sleepily. 

            "Morning, sunshine," she murmurs, and my heart catches in my throat.

            "Tell me I'm not dreaming," I plead. She reaches up and pinches my arm, hard. "Ouch!"

            "You're not dreaming," she replies, tilting her head up to capture my mouth in a long, lingering kiss. I believe her; in my dreams, I always wake up just before I kiss her.

            Our kiss turns passionate and I roll over to pin her under me, catching both of her hands in one of mine and holding them over her head. She giggles, rubbing her knee against the outside of my leg as her fingers twine around mine. I lose myself in the sensation of kissing her, touching her, but stop myself as I'm reaching for the hem of her shirt.

            "Sarah?"

            "Harm," she breathes, leaning up to kiss me again, but I pull back.

            "I don't want to rush," I begin, and she gives me a look that's equal parts fondness and exasperation.

            "Shut up and make love to me, Harm."

            Her eyes are sparkling, and my heart soars. 

            "Yes, ma'am," I respond with a grin, certain I've never been so happy to comply with an order in my life.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: The MCAT is over…did anyone else take it? Feel free to leave MCAT feedback as well as fic feedback, especially if you hated the biological sciences section as much as I did.

------------------------------------

Mac's Apartment, Georgetown

Mac

            We stay in bed for another hour, just enjoying each other's presence. I finally call for shower time, and I'm not the least bit surprised when Harm offers to join me. After all, he used to offer before we were involved. Back then, I'd throw him a red light and we'd drop it. Today, I grab an extra towel and we get to it. I like this much better.

            After my apartment is out of hot water and we're freshly scrubbed, we head back into my bedroom. I'm pulling on a clean shirt when I realize he's watching me, leaning against the wall and smiling.

            "What?"

------------------------------------

Mac's Apartment, Georgetown 

Harm

            My smile widens; I can't help it. "You're so beautiful." She looks like she doesn't know what to say, so I plow on. "I could never get away with just sitting around and watching you before. I had to do it in secret. It's nice to be able to admire you openly."

            She's blushing fiercely, which is one of the cutest things I've ever seen. 

            "I – thank you." She looks down at her hands for a moment, then back up at me. "Aren't you going to get dressed?"

            I shrug. "All I have is my uniform from yesterday and my sweats."

            "You should probably go home and change." She sounds about as happy about that as I feel. I don't want to go home. 

            "Yeah. Hey, want to come with? I'll make breakfast," I wheedle, and she comes over to peck my cheek. 

            "It's a date," she replies. 

------------------------------------

Webb's Apartment, Alexandria

Webb

            I wake up around nine wondering why Andie hasn't come in looking for a ride to Langley yet. The note on the breakfast table doesn't really surprise me. I scan its contents as I put on a pot of coffee. It says Andie got a call from IDTF around four this morning and she'll be in Colombia until further notice; she didn't want to wake me up, so she called a company car. She also thanked me for loaning her my bed and suggested we get together the next time we're both in town. I'm almost relieved she's gone. I wasn't sure how to conduct myself after last night. This way I'll have a little while to get myself in order and plan my next move. I just hope she doesn't know how hard it was for me to restrain myself last night. She definitely looks better in my clothes than I do.

-----------------

The next day

-----------------

----------------------------------

Colombia, Coordinates Classified

Andie

            The mere existence of Colombia pisses me off sometimes. I know it has great scenery and even better coffee, but every time I come here I end up in a godforsaken jungle busting two-bit drug dealers and trying to find the big fish behind the whole operation. This is a half-team mission, so I brought the three I thought would blend in the best. Gilcrest, apparently still not over my 'miraculous' return from our last mission, is treating me like Jesus resurrected from the dead. I'm about ready to kill him. If he didn't speak fluent Spanish, I would have traded him for someone who was more interested in working than worshipping. 

            Klein, the communications guy on this mission, flips me his cell phone and I read the text message on the screen with dawning fury. It's a formal recommendation from Control to abort the mission based on lack of intel. Screw that; I didn't just spend four hours on a plane and four more in the jungle letting bugs treat me like a twenty-four hour blood bank to abort the mission and come back empty handed. Besides, the last communication I had with C and C was before I left, and since then we've discovered the location of the drug factory. 

            I take team coordinator's privilege and deep-six the rec based on new intel, or 'facts formerly not in evidence', as Mac used to say. Shaking my head at Klein, I motion for the team to move in. I'm up for evaluation soon, so I probably ought to earn my keep while I have the chance. 

--------------------------------------------------

Harm's apartment, North of Union Station

Mac

            The pounding at the door to Harm's apartment wakes me as my internal clock tells me it's 0914 on a Sunday. Two days after Andie's and my return from our missions; two days since Harm and I finally admitted our feelings to each other. I can't help smiling to myself as I remember how we spent all of yesterday. Even though we were just hanging out and doing errands, we did them as a couple, not just friends or partners. And then, of course, there were the obvious other activities that weren't available to us as friends. I think Harm's trying to make up for lost time. 

            Another loud knock brings me back to the present, and I look over at Harm, but he's out like a light. Grumbling under my breath about Harm's crazy friends, I tug on his t-shirt and boxers and go over to get rid of whoever's at the door. 

            The man in the naval commander's uniform gives me a moment's pause; I don't know him. He smiles at me.

            "You must be Major Mackenzie."

            I'm instantly suspicious, but his easy smile is contagious.

            "Can I help you?"

            "Actually, I was looking for Harm. I'm Sturgis Turner. Harm and I went to the academy together."

            My brain catches up with my mouth when he gives me his name.

            "Oh, yes. You're the new guy at JAG." He gives me another smile and I return it. "Nice to meet you, Commander. I've heard good things."

            "It's mutual, Major, on both counts. You're all Harm talks about."

            "Please, call me Mac." I glance down. "I'm not really in uniform."

            He has a nice laugh, and after a moment I join in. I step aside, offering him a seat at the counter in Harm's kitchen. 

            "Coffee, Commander?" 

            "Please," he replies. "And it's Sturgis."

            "Got it."

-----------

            We're still sitting at the counter twenty minutes later, exchanging stories about Harm's escapades, when the object of our anecdotes comes in.

            "Morning, baby," he murmurs to me, and I'm not even sure he sees his old friend as he drops a kiss on the top of my head and heads straight for the coffee. 

            "Good morning, sweetheart," Sturgis replies, batting his eyelashes at my partner, and I choke on a laugh. The look on Harm's face is priceless.

            "How long have you been here?" he demands, looking from Turner to me and back.

            "About half an hour," I reply for him. "We've been comparing notes. You were a busy boy at the academy."

            He groans. "Why me?"

            I smile and sidestep the question. "Now that you're up, I'm going to go get dressed."

            He nods, but when I start to leave he grabs my shoulder.

            "Harm-"

            He kisses me passionately, snaking one arm around my waist to hold me up as my knees buckle under his assault. "Good morning," he says finally, releasing me. That's the kind of greeting I could get used to.

            "Morning," I reply, dazed, and I can hear Sturgis chuckling behind me. Anyone else would have been embarrassed or offended or both. I like this guy. 

-----------------------------------------

Colombia, Coordinates Classified

Andie

            We take the drug factory with almost no resistance, and it's razed to the ground in a matter of minutes thanks to the C4 Klein had the presence of mind to bring. Sending in our finished mission profile via text message and taking a moment to appreciate the still-new technology that makes it possible for me to get my team out of here without having to visit a regional office to submit the profile, I gather the team and we head back to the little air strip where our plane is stored. I'm ready to ditch this place and head back to Langley, where I've got two COs and, if I'm lucky, a CIA agent waiting for me.

--------------------------------------------------

Harm's apartment, North of Union Station

Harm

            I lean back against the counter, meeting my old friend's gaze squarely. After a moment, he merely shakes his head. 

            "Never thought I'd see the day," he tells me, a sparkle in his eyes. "The great Harmon Rabb Jr. acting like a teenager in love."

            I shrug, too happy to be bothered by Sturgis' teasing this morning. "I never thought I could love anybody like I love her, bro."

            The smile he gives me reminds me why we're friends; he's truly happy for me. It's hard to find friends who can see you achieve complete happiness and be happy for you instead of jealous.


End file.
